


aegeus

by mizmatched



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: -ish?, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mythology References, Oops, President Toby Smith | Tubbo, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Suicidal Thoughts, Toby Smith | Tubbo Misses TommyInnit, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, no beta we die like Tubbo at the festival, parallels between tubbo and aegeus, tommy isnt dead but tubbo thinks he is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:33:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28179153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizmatched/pseuds/mizmatched
Summary: Tubbo is so, so incredibly alone.. . . . . .Tommy is gone and Tubbo grieves.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 93





	aegeus

**Author's Note:**

> hey! first fic on this account, i hope you enjoy!
> 
> tw: implied suicide and suicidal thoughts.

Tubbo often wondered why he tried. Where was this passion for his country coming from? The people? The place? L’Manberg, he knew, was a togetherness, a group of people who fought for freedom and truth. Lately, however, L’Manberg seemed nothing but a shell of its former self.

The paperwork stacked up on his desk, one after another. The windows of his office seemed grimy from weeks without being washed. Weeks of being but a placeholder for a better time. When Tubbo would look out over his country with hope, when he had the naïve and wonderous mind of a child. Tubbo wished his shoulders didn’t feel so heavy when he looked at his country today. He wished he loved it the same.

These days he shoulders were heavy from the weight of his job, and his head was heavy from the tiny sprouting horns that pierced through his hair.

Tubbo was not the innocent child he had been all those years ago. He wasn’t the same boy who had donned his revolutionary outfit without hesitation and had charged into battle for his friends, for his nation. Now the responsibilities of an adult weigh upon his shoulders. He can feel him working himself into an early grave.

In back of his closet there is an apron, covered in blood, he wishes he could burn it, and the thought of what he did, what he was willing to do, but he can’t. He might have to wear it again, for his country.

Tubbo’s bones ache. He feels the age in his skin, and he doesn’t sleep. He is still a child, but he feels the years eat at his very soul. He wishes someone who knows what they are doing will come and take the gavel out of his hand before he sentences another innocent person to their death.

The country weighs on him.

Dream weighs on him.

The apron in his closet weighs on him.

Tommy weighs on him.

Tubbo wishes he could change a lot of things about his past, but Tommy? To bring back his best friend he would sell his soul.

The ruins of Logstedshire haunt him. He wakes up falling, tumbling off that immense tower that loomed of the wreckage of Tommy’s final home. Tubbo wishes himself every misfortune that he had caused Tommy, tenfold. He wishes he had died from that tower, tumbling to his death. He lives with the guilt of what he did, what he caused, like an open wound. It burns, it stings, every time he moves, an ache in his soul, in his bones, crawling through his skin.

He feels in, most prominently though, through his fingertips. It aches there, a cold tingly numbness. He scratches at it in meetings, during events, and diplomatic conversations. He claws at it in his home, when he lies in bed, when he dons the apron, when he hears Quackity talk of killing Technoblade and Dream in that casual voice.

His fingers are calloused from swords, picks, and bows, they don’t break easily, but when they do, they bleed. He feels the pain through his fingers still, and scratches through the bandages.

Tommy is dead.

Tommy is dead, Wilbur is gone, Fundy has left, and Eret is a traitor. Tubbo is alone. He is the last of the original members of L’manberg.

Tubbo is so, so incredibly alone.

(No, he reminds himself, Tommy was alone, Tommy was so alone he couldn’t stand it anymore, you are not alone, you are weak. Grow up)

Ranboo would make a good president, wouldn’t he? Better then Tubbo had ever been.

He thinks about how maybe “president” is a cursed roll. He thinks he should burn that apron. He thinks about ripping his paperwork to shreds and building a nice cobblestone tower, like Tommy’s old ones, and jumping.

Tubbo can’t though, not yet. Not yet. Maybe soon, but not yet.

Tubbo longs for the old days, when president meant something, and king was a childs game. When the crown on Erets head didn’t look so paper thin, and Dreams mask wasn’t so cold and foreboding. When he could sleep through the night, and wake up to Tommy banging on his door, another stupid idea on his lips, another day wasted to nothing but fun and childish glee. He wishes he could take back the wars and the manipulation and the presidency he did not earn. He wishes he had his own button, to take him away from this place. To take him back to Tommy.

After all, it was never meant to be.

“Aegeus, in Greek mythology, the son of Pandion and grandson of Cecrops. He was king of Athens and the father of Theseus. Aegeus drowned himself in the sea when he mistakenly believed his son to be dead. The sea was thereafter called the Aegean.”

**Author's Note:**

> the quote at the end is from https://www.britannica.com/topic/Aegeus  
> i used that quote in particular because i thought it summed up the myth of aegeus very cleanly. 
> 
> comments and kudos are my life blood! <33 stay safe guys!
> 
> (i started a tumblr! @mizmatched there too, its a mcyt blog if you wanna yell at me about block people, you can!)


End file.
